Chapter 14: #14 HP FF/ The Bigger Picture by cloud9stories
Link : https://m.fan fiction.net/s/13480458/1/The-Bigger-Picture
WC : 114k+
Plot : POV from a OC-SI one year older than the twins, AU from triwizard onward, even if Harry Potter will be canonish. Detailed explanation of magic, animagus, alchemy, rituals, Worldwide scenarios. ( OC x Fleur )
Author's note : This is my first attempt at SI-OC Harry Potter Fanfiction. As I said in the title, my character will focus on the worldwide threat: the inevitable failure of the Statute of Secrecy and the following failed attempts at integration between the magic and mundane worlds. More than that, he will focus on magic.
He will mostly leave Harry Potter and his friends to fend for themselves until Triwizard, from there on it will be AU.
There will be magic theory, elemental understanding with elements from Naruto, alchemy, rituals, and Crafting of various kinds. I hope you enjoy this story, but I do not really care. this is really going to be some kind of sandbox for me to play with magic.
Chapter 1
The first thing I can recall properly, or my first memory, is feeling somewhat confused.
This was for a lot of reasons: I was no longer twenty-two years old (at least judging by my pudgy hands, blurry vision, and the attention span of a mosquito), other children were roaming around, the adult people around me were clearly not speaking my native language, and I was enthralled by a bright orange wood cube.
Don't get me wrong, I normally don't despise orange, or wood, or regular geometrical 3-D objects, it's fascinating, really, but before this first memory of me in a little body, I am quite certain I was just about to submit my thesis for my Bachelor's degree in Physical Engineering. Thereby my confusion.
It most definitely was not a dream, simply because if you can think about being in a dream while you are sleeping, it's really easy to distinguish it from reality. At least this has always been something I could do.
My confusion was slowly subdued by my rising panic.
WHAT THE FUCK!?
I was almost hyperventilating, and boy isn't that something stupid to do? The other children would notice something was wrong with me, as would the adults, and I would find myself in some secret military lab being dissected for some reason or another. Maybe I was overthinking it.
Obviously, this chain of thoughts was not helping. A sudden crash caused me to stiffen. Raising my eyes from the fascinating orange cube I could see the window's glass had cracked and was missing shards. I couldn't explain it, but some part of my mind recognized that I was the cause of that event.
Oh, so I AM a military experiment. I thought.
Because seriously, what else could it be? Going from being 22 years old to a toddler around other toddlers with telekinetic mind powers triggered by panic? I was clearly a child-soldier to be.
But the adult in the room squealed in fright, before ushering the children away from the window.
Following a gut feeling, I spent the following hours crying and blending in with the other children
No adult praised me or in any way recognized what would [should be] be a success for their military development.
Maybe I was a failed project?
So, in conclusion, it seems like: I was a twenty-two years old telekinetic almost engineer in the body of a toddler, and it looked like I was not under observation.
If history or comics of any kind have taught me anything, it is that revealing yourself to be somewhat different without being in a position of power is madness.
So, keeping it secret it was.
Chapter 2
1987-21 December
Repeating in my head what that woman just told to me, I had three thoughts running in circles in my head:
1) well this explains a lot of stuff
2) how the fuck did I end up here?
3)what the hell should I do now?
Scrutinizing Minerva McGonagall, who curiously, actually looked exactly like Maggie Smith, and was smiling somewhat smugly, I simply asked: "I beg your pardon?"
At which she equally simply repeated "You are a wizard, Mr. Taylor."
I stuttered something unintelligible.
Well this explains a lot of stuff. I thought again.
Taking my shocked stuttering and stillness as something related to her revelation, the professor briefly explained to me in words an eleven-year-old could understand about magic.
My response to this was to push my palms into my eye-sockets trying to process the fact that I somehow ended up not only traveling from 2019 to the past, like last years of observations had led me to believe, but in the fucking Rowling universe. Nice books, by the way.
However I read enough fanfics in my, well, I'll call it my first life, because either I suddenly died there to awaken in some kind of parallel dimension or the real me was in a coma and this was all a super hallucination.
I didn't know which of the two options was worse than the other.
Well, the latter was out of my control, the first was my childhood dreams come true.
A first very important step was determining if this place was exactly like Rowling's world, or, if not, which were the differences.
I grabbed a notebook and pen, and I was glad I still new shorthand writing from university.
I took a deep breath: "I have a few hundreds of questions, professor. Can I ask the more pressing ones?"
I know it's not exactly respectful, but she looked like a cat that ate the canary, somewhat smug, somewhat grinning.
"Yes, Mr. Taylor, I have the whole afternoon free exactly for this very reason."
And so I proceeded to ask, from the details of the Statute of Secrecy, to those of the magical government, and to what kind of magic was actually possible (her answer to this one was 'almost everything, Mr. Taylor'. useful, really useful professor). If Atlantis was real, if Greek or Norse mythology characters were real or based on wizards and witches, if dragons were real, if there was magic on the other side of the moon (this question made her look at me strangely, so I dropped the outer space questions), and so on and so forth.
"Why have you come today, exactly?" I asked last, and to this, she explained that traditionally, the day in which a wizard or a witch turned eleven was the one dedicated to sending the Hogwarts' letter to those already aware of magic, but that since I was muggle-born and living in an orphanage the deputy headmistress was in charge of explaining the magical world.
During this, I learned that my legal guardian would be my Head of House once I was sorted.
"Since you were born after the 31st of October, you will start attending Hogwarts coming September first. If you choose to attend, obviously." and there she raised an eyebrow, like my answer was somewhat taken for granted.
So, I would exist in legal limbo until September first? I couldn't decide if it was advantageous or terrifying.
"And what would happen, if I were to refuse to attend your schooling?" I asked then. The professor raised both her eyebrows looking at me like I would look at a giraffe in a suit: with a 'Strange as fuck, but not really my problem' gaze. She studied me for a few seconds before her non-answer came: "Why for the love of Merlin would you choose to not learn magic, Mr. Taylor?"
"Because I am an avid reader of dystopic novels, professor," I answered coldly. I never liked the not answers nuns used to give me in primary school (of my first life).
At this point she was scrutinizing me, it was obvious she had no idea of what I was talking about. (I read lots of stuff in my previous life, but Fahrenheit 451 was among the orphanage's books, so I was in the clear. No need to talk about things that did not exist yet)
"You would not be able to get a wand, you would have to carry a tracker, and the memories of today would be erased. We must uphold the Statute, after all."
Well, it could have been worse, I guess. I thought briefly.
I could refuse, and keep learning stuff on my own, after all, I learned how to levitate stuff without help. And once I gained enough as a muggle, I could buy stuff on my own and stay away from mind-reading fuckers, and generally off the grid.
But, well, it was magic, and I really wanted to throw lightning around. I also had years of RPGs in my head, I could steal ideas and craft spells that only muggles would imagine in the 2010s.
New plan. Becoming so kickass that the ministry, Voldemort and Dumbledore can do what they want leaving me the fuck alone. And building a muggle proof floating island because it would be super awesome, and magic. Learning All the magic, becoming immortal too would be cool, I think.
"I'll be glad to attend your fine institution ma'am." I responded, "but how will it work? I am already attending a muggle school, and there are things I'd like to keep studying, and getting a degree at some point would make it possible for me to work for muggles and magicals alike. Also, what am I supposed to do until September first? And is there some kind of student loan? I don't have any money."
The witch relaxed a bit at this point, "Hogwarts will house and educate you from September to June, what you do during the summer, Mr. Taylor, is your business. I suggest self-study, and you can sit your examinations as a private citizen. Now, the papers for dropping muggle school will be taken care of by the ministry, and we can go on and purchase some of the equipment on your list, it will be second hand, mind you, and you will not attempt to cast spells or brew potions until you are at Hogwarts, is that clear? Good."
I was nodding and jotting down everything she told me since I made [gave] her the first question, so she let me finish noting the rules and then offered me her arm. I knew she wanted to apparate us, but it was an argument [topic/magic] we did not cover with my questions. I stared at her arm tilting my head a bit. "Is this some kind of salute?" I asked then, mimicking the elbow-goodbye from Frankenstein Jr. (I remembered it was from 1974, even if I wasn't counting on her knowing about it).
She quirked a smile, I must have appeared as a strange, paranoid, curious child, "No, Mr. Taylor," she said while grabbing my arm "we will be apparating."
And with a crack, we were gone.
The leaky cauldron was exactly like in the movies, even if they missed the smell of stale, alcohol, and foods that I didn't want to think about. But that was probably because it felt like I just got squeezed through a rubber straw, and I was trying very hard not to puke, while rubbing my arms to warm myself somewhat.
It' s winter you old hag! I thought. She didn't even let me grab my jacket, I just had on a jumper for god's sake.
"Yes, the first time can be somewhat uncomfortable, I'm afraid. Oh, allow me." and before I could think of an appropriate snarky remark she conjured a cloak from thin air, and with the second twitch of her wand, I was suddenly warm.
My head was processing both the things she said and the things I read in my first life, so my mouth was free to throw questions at her: "When do I learn to do that? Where was it before you made it appear? What's your wand made of? What's this place?"
"Mr. Taylor!" she interrupted me, "calm down, we have a couple of hours to complete your shopping, and so I have time to answer your questions, but only if you let me."
Yup, now she was stern and amused at the same time, this was my magic at work.
I followed their trough the brick wall (trying to memorize the sequence), and I did not comment on the name Diagon-alley because that was the kind of humor I wouldn't poke with a ten-foot pole.
After she explained that the questions I expressed had answers too advanced for me, she went on for a bit explaining the different classes I would be attending, but her eyes sparkled when I presented particularly insightful questions. She[seemed to actually love to teach. That was cool.
"Professor, since I am on a budget, why can't you make clothes appear like the cloak?"
"They would disappear once my magic fades, Mr. Taylor."
"If I buy a rat, a toad, or an owl, will it become my familiar?"
"Not at all. A familiar bond is developed by chance, and it's the peak level of trust between you and the familiar. It's not something you choose, more something you are chosen for. It's an esoteric branch of magic, and not something I've ever studied."
I ended up with a good oak trunk, if a bit scratched here and there, my clothes were a couple of sizes too big for me, but I would wear them coming September and lots of second or third-hand books. I chose to buy more of them, used, instead of fewer, new.
Among them there were An introduction to runes: futhark and Norse, even if I had to promise not to try anything before taking the class in Hogwarts, Arithmancy for beginners, even if McGonagall was skeptical of whether I would understand it. I made it clear that I wanted to challenge myself.
McGonagall helped me with choosing a few more, like A history of the Wizengamot, The three steps of the duelist, Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them, Magical theory: volume one, An introduction to alchemy (Written by our own Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore), and several others that piqued my interest.
For the potions class requirements, a pewter cauldron was purchased, however, the ingredients were yet to be bought, due to the short shelf life that they have even under preservations charms, and at the Magical Menagerie I found a robust-looking barn owl that kept following me with his little black eyes that shined in the middle of the white feathers of his face.
"And, for your eyes, I'll name you Kurotsuchi, it means Black Earth, in Japanese. Do you like it?"
Hoot
"Good enough for me." I grinned.
As we walked out of the shop in response to the odd look I received, I explained to McGonagall that I wasn't fluent in Japanese, I only knew a few words and how to count up to ten.
I was about to ask if there were spells to learn a foreign language when we reached Ollivander's. My expectations [going in] were obviously very high: did he really use only phoenix feathers, dragon heartstrings, and unicorn hairs? Or perhaps parts from every kind of magical creature? After all, if Fleur could use a Veela's hair, I was pretty sure that it was only chance that made Ollivander mentioned only phoenix, dragons, and unicorns in the books. Maybe they were the more common cores?
We entered the dusty shop and I immediately felt almost like I was underwater, but not quite, maybe like I had clogged ears due to the shift in pressure, but even that wasn't it. I raised my hand in front of me expecting to feel some kind of resistance, but it moved normally through the air.
"Good Afternoon." a voice piped in behind us.
I jumped a bit, startled, even if the fanfictions should have warned me about his spookiness.
"Minerva McGonagall, fir and dragon heartstring, ten inches and half, with a taste for transfiguration."
"Yes, Garrick, like you always remind me. And stop making my students jumpy, if you please," replied McGonagall. I almost laughed at her somewhat weary tone, he seemed to love his little charade.
"And you are?" he then asked me.
"David Taylor sir, it's an honor to meet you." I answered, still somewhat overwhelmed by the blurry quality of the air that I couldn't explain.
"And which is your wand arm?"
"Uh, I learned to write with my left, but then I learned to use my right hand too, and sometimes I draw using both, so I don't know how to answer sir, and now I'm rambling and so I'll shut up, sorry professor."
I almost stuttered at the beginning of the conversation but as soon as I started imagining how it would feel to hold a wand, I once again became enraptured by the feeling of the very air around my hands. McGonagall actually smirked at my answer, while Ollivander hummed for a few seconds, sending his measuring tape around my face, where it took note of the length of my nose, my eyebrows, the distance between them, the width of my mouth, before it went around my back and snaked around my arms, fingers, and even legs and feet.
"A sensible one, aren't you?" asked Ollivander. I remained silent since it was obviously a rhetorical question.
"This could take a while, Mr. Taylor, wandlore is a curious branch of magic, and not even I understand it all, however, I have an interesting feeling about today, oh yes. And when it comes to wands, mister Taylor, feelings are everything." He took a breath, starting to rummage among the dusty shelves "However it's clear, that no witch or wizard chooses his or her wand, but rather it's the wand, that chooses its first wielder instead."
Then I started trying wands, first with my left, then with my right.
"Pine, with a very old Ukrainian Ironbelly heartstring, exactly 13 inches, stiff."
I slowly raised it with my left, feeling a tingle from my wrist to my elbow, encouraged, I waved it toward my left: boom, and gone was the vase in the corner.
The flowers inside were dead anyway. Even while thinking that, I put down my wand feeling a bit guilty.
What if the stuff I was doing will prevent me from using a wand? Actually no, Riddle used wandless magic growing up and his yew and phoenix feather still chose him.
"Whistlethorn, with a Snidget tail feather, ten and a quarter inches, rather bendy." I felt a zap stopping at my fingers there and waving it again towards the vase' shards I caused them to embed themselves into the wooden wall. This answers my question on the materials he uses. I thought belatedly.
"Eleven inches of mahogany, with a single Nundu's whisker, very springy."
That one burned my fingers before I could do anything with it.
Ollivander went on giving me sticks to wave around for a full half an hour with varying degrees of success, before humming some more.
He then slid a trunk on the floor before jumping inside, muttering something unintelligible.
I forgot they could do that!
"Professor when will I learn how to craft a suite into a trunk?" I asked immediately, excited at the thought of this magic.
The professor almost smiled there; I swear.
"It's an advanced application of charms and runes both, that requires a perfect understanding of the arithmancy behind the project. It's not something actively taught at Hogwarts. In your sixth year I believe the expansion charms are briefly touched for your charms NEWT. And no, Mr. Taylor, you don't need a newt, it stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test. And you can read about the exams in both Hogwarts: a history, and History of magic."
And before I could find another question for the professor Ollivander came out of the trunk.
I still don't understand why people need to work if they can live in a trunk and conjure clothes. I thought briefly, in my mind, it truly didn't make sense.
Ollivander aligned four wands on the table, and we were at it again. "My uncle liked to experiment with composite cores, these are the wands that didn't explode, Mr. Taylor, they are mostly safe."
I stopped before grabbing the first. "Mostly?" I asked, eyeing the wands a bit wary.
"Well, yes!" exclaimed Ollivander, "He was a bit batty you see."
THAT should reassure me?
I stalled for a few seconds, because I wanted to live forever and have fun, exploding for a wand crafted by this a bit batty person would suck. I extended my hand over the first, trying to prod it with the feel I usually adopted to, well, feel stuff that I could either push, pull, or levitate. I breathed deeply, letting the feel washing over me. Or trying to.
It felt like hovering my hand in the open mouth of a lion. Thrilling, but scary as fuck.
The second one gave the same feeling you have when you walk in the absolute dark with only your hands to guide you. So, explorative, I guess?
But I didn't like it one bit.
The third one felt like climbing a tree and snorkeling at the same time, like spring rain and building a sandcastle. That doesn't make sense at all. But I like it, even if it is strange. It reminded me of the focus one falls into while resolving a math problem, and the adrenaline rush before the first 'I love you' when you don't know if the other feels the same. I slowly wrapped my fingers around the length of wood, and raised it from the cloth on which it was resting.
The rush ran along my left arm and exploded in my chest, and somehow, I knew I had to hold on with all my strength, while my heart started to boom in my ears. And so, I held on for dear life, because I was running on the edge of the blade, I was a kite, prey of the winds, I was a rock assaulted by the waves. And slowly the waves calmed down, the string of the kite fell into my left hand on its own, and I was walking on grass still wet from the dew, among safe, strong trees. It was like the grass wanted to soothe my feet after the run on the blade. When I finally remembered to breathe I was laughing with fat tears running down my cheeks. I brought my wand close to my eyes. Because it was my wand, and I knew it in the same way I knew my lungs were in my chest. It was a light brown wood, almost gray, and the texture felt almost like stone.
I was taken from my contemplation by McGonagall who seemed unable to control her Scottish burr while reprimanding Ollivander for the risk he exposed me to.
"Thank you." I interrupted her. I was looking at the old wandcrafter who was sporting an almost predatory smile.
"A bit batty, young wizard, a bit batty." he reminded me.
And I swear he was somehow howling in laughter while maintaining a straight face.
"A wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Taylor. Exactly thirteen inches. Demiguise eyestring wrapped around a thunderbird feather. I read in my uncle's journal, that while the female Demiguise got herself captured at almost the end of her natural life, the thunderbird gifted her feather willingly. That would make for an extremely temperamental and uncontrollable wand. But the wood is from a spruce. In particular, from the Old Tjikko spruce tree, which is quite venerable. You see, that spruce tree is more than nine thousand years old, and once or twice every millennium, the tree dies before sprouting again from the same roots, which are always alive. A bit batty does not quite cover your wand, Mr. Taylor, but the potential is there. Oh yes, it is." explained slowly Ollivander.
"I cannot pay you enough for this master Ollivander." I whispered. I was still looking at my wand. The handle was welcoming, I distractedly noticed that my whole arm was still aching from how strongly I held the ancient wood, while the upper part was almost sharp, like a splinter.
"My wands cost 7 galleons, Mr. Taylor. Nothing more, nothing less." Ollivander dismissed me. "However, maybe I can interest you in a proper wand maintenance kit, or a wand holster?"
I looked at him with the most deadpan expression I could execute: "I'm eleven years old. How exactly my 13 inches long wand is supposed to rest on my forearm?"
Ollivander rose a challenging eyebrow at me, before letting his creepy wide eyes roll around the shop, resting on the trunk he had gone into to retrieve my wand.
I wanted to kick myself: "Right, magic. Nevermind." I paid 2 galleons extra for a wand holster, but I left the wand maintaining kit alone, if the wood was from a nine thousand years old tree I could simply treat it well and see where it would bring me.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Lord_Meph1sto
Lord_Meph1sto I honestly enjoyed this FF very much. OP MC. Not much interaction with the golden trio unless necessary. What more do u need !!!!
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